


Not Ready

by panchostokes (badwolfrun)



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Episode: s05e24-25 Grave Danger, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Nick Stokes Whump, Passing Out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 17:03:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21140159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolfrun/pseuds/panchostokes
Summary: He had missed a lot of things about working with Nick Stokes, but one thing he didn’t particularly miss was his stubbornness.





	Not Ready

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick fic inspired by an ask on tumblr. Having a lot of fun diving back into the masterpiece that is Grave Danger and the aftermath of it ;)

He hadn’t slept in days. 

Had barely had anything to eat. 

Definitely didn’t drink enough water.

He knew he wasn’t ready to come back full time, and certainly not ready to work in the field. 

But he practically  _ begged  _ to come back, tired of sitting at home all day watching reruns of How It’s Made and various soap operas, the likes of which he found himself too emotionally invested for his taste. (He had already spent so much time crying, he was surprised his tear ducts hadn’t become like the desert that he lived in.)

He was tired of being alone, although his parents had offered to stay–and offered for him to come home, but he made it very clear to him that Las Vegas  _ was  _ his home, perhaps a bit…too clear. He didn’t want to keep the team from their lives, either. They had all taken turns visiting Nick or inviting him over, an unspoken chore wheel was set up to watch over the man during his physical and mental recovery.

They had work to do, though. Crime scenes to investigate, criminals to catch. 

Other cases to work on, because his case was closed.

And he was tired of being the victim. 

Grissom, who had shown a completely new, softer side to Nick as he debriefed him in the hospital, had gone back to that callousness, that disconnect when he reluctantly gave Nick the approval to come back full time. It had almost put Nick at ease, that things were going back to the way they were before his abduction, though he worried they had taken a step too far back, and he was a rookie again trying to prove himself to Grissom.

He was willing and grateful for that regression if it meant he could fall back into that much simpler time in his life, and forget about everything that happened after. 

And yet, he was kept on a much shorter leash, under carefully watching eyes, not allowed to stray more than a foot away without a human shadow hot on his heels.

It was almost as suffocating as the box.

A pervasive thought that had gotten under his skin on more than one occasion. He tried to think of it in the loving way that Greg often invaded his personal space, rather than a stranger trying to trap him, grab him from behind. In those moments, he would count to ten and take a deep breath, stop and think about what he was feeling before saying anything he would regret. (He still hasn’t returned D.A’s phone calls for that very reason.)

But in that particular moment, he just felt  _ exhausted.  _

So exhausted that he had been dusting the same doorknob for ten minutes, lost in the distorted reflection of himself. He felt like he was starting to float and stretch like the bubbles in a lava lamp, was hyper aware of his own shallow breathing that quickened as something that wasn’t dust powder appeared on the door knob next to him. 

Dread spread through his body like wildfire, he gulped, felt beads of sweat rise through the pores in his forehead, he clenched a fist as the brush shook in his other hand. He wanted to call for help before the hand would grab at him from behind with the cloth that tasted of pure alcohol--the stench of which would set his nostrils on fire, tickle them, and not in the soft, funny way that they were tingling at that moment--

“Nick?” Grissom’s voice cut through his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

“Hmm?” Nick looked up from the door knob, suffered a small head rush in the sudden movement, had to squint to see Grissom through the motion blur.

“You feeling okay? You look a little green.”

The room was turning green, as green as his face, as green as his hands, everything enveloped in a glowing green hue.

“Are you drunk?” Grissom asked in a hushed whisper. 

“What? No,” Nick snorted incredulously, shook his head.

More head rush, the room didn’t stop shaking after his head did.

“Smells like alcohol in here,” Grissom muttered. He turned away from Nick, but shot one last glance at the younger man, although Nick couldn’t see him do so, lost in a whirlwind as the quaking room started to spin into a bright circle, so bright that it caused him to shut his eyes.

Light on, light off. 

“Ether...the air...tastes like...ether,” Nick breathed, reached a hand towards Grissom, to warn him--

He wasn’t grabbed from behind, but rather, fell forward into two arms that started to drag him back to his premature grave.

* * *

He wasn’t ready.

He had told him countless times, and he didn’t listen. 

He had missed a lot of things about working with Nick Stokes, but one thing he didn’t particularly miss was his stubbornness. 

He wondered if he had pressed his hand up against Nick’s, if he would listen to him with the attention he had back when he was in a literal life-or-death situation. 

Not that he could listen to him now, anyway, passed out on a hospital bed with an IV stuck in his arm. 

An all too familiar sight, much too soon for his liking, yet not as worse for wear as he was the last time he visited the man in the hospital. 

“What were you thinking, Nicky?” Grissom sighed as he rubbed the temples of his throbbing forehead, the warning signs of a migraine. 

“Wasn’t,” a low voice grumbled in response.

Grissom lowered his hand immediately and approached the side of the bed. Nick peeked one eye open to examine his surroundings before he sat up, rubbing both eyes and examining the IV with a frown.

“You said you were ready to work,” Grissom remarked with a raised eyebrow. 

“I was, just...didn’t sleep too good--”

“You’re not sleeping at all,” he didn’t even bother asking it as a question, phrased it as a statement.

_ Then again,  _ he posed to himself,  _ I wouldn’t either. _

Grissom sank down into a chair that he hooked with his foot, falling back into years past as he sat, observing a similar skeletal state of a man who was in the wrong place at the wrong time, doomed to suffer the shock waves that would ripple through every aspect of his life.

“I can’t lose you, Nick. Not again.”

“Why-You’re not...Why would you think that, Gris?” Nick stammered, stifling a yawn.

_ Because your behavior reflects my abilities as a supervisor, and now Conrad’s going to take you away. Again. _

“You aren’t getting the help you need.”

“You talking about therapy? I did the mandatory sessions--”

“This isn’t just about that, Nicky. Throwing yourself into work after a traumatic experience--” Nick winced at the words “--without making sure you’re up to the task, it’s not healthy.”

“I’m eating right--”

“But we’ve already established that you’re not sleeping, and the Doctor said you’re showing signs of dehydration and not getting enough nutrients.”

“Everything tastes like dirt…” Nick muttered under his breath, his eyes darting around the floor. 

“Nick. Look at me.”

Nick’s widened eyes sheltered under curved eyebrows stared up at Grissom. Grissom narrowed his own eyebrows, not falling for the “lost puppy” look that, on any other day, would have melted Grissom’s heart, allowed him to give Nick whatever his heart desired. 

“You’re taking the rest of the week off. Next week, too. You’re not coming back until you’re fully awake, hydrated and fed. And clearance from the department shrink.” 

“Gil,  _ please--” _

“This is not a request, it’s an order, and it’s for your own good.” Grissom stood up and pushed the chair back, started to head out towards the hall to the awaiting team, who were eager to see Nick. “And don’t call me ‘ _ Gil _ .’”

He almost felt bad, leaving Nick having a silent meltdown at his firm delivery of words, but his soft and caring fatherly approach was obviously not doing him any favors. He needed Nick back, no tricks, not whoever was sitting in the bed, pleading to do a job he damn well knew he wasn’t capable of doing, not in his condition. 

Warrick was the first to brush past Grissom, swiftly entering the room. The door had barely closed, Grissom watched as Warrick was immediately at Nick’s side, holding his hand. 

“Hey, man, how you doing?” 

“I think Dad just grounded me.”

The sudden humor shining through the shroud that was draining Nick cracked a smile across his face. Maybe he was wrong, and Nick was there, with them, and not trapped in a box somewhere beneath the ground.


End file.
